


The Spaces Between

by dexstarr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Community: hp_humpdrabbles, F/F, Femslash, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Slow Burn, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 06:18:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11572134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dexstarr/pseuds/dexstarr
Summary: Rose Zeller discovers she has feelings for the most unlikely person.





	The Spaces Between

**Author's Note:**

> _Harry Potter_ is not mine and no profit is made from this work. Written for the LJ community [hp_humpdrabbles](http://hp-humpdrabbles.livejournal.com/). Event: 2011 Humpfest. Prompts: First time, Astronomy Tower, Silk Ribbon.

_May 2nd, 1998_  
  
The grinding of benches and clatter of feet filled the Great Hall as the younger students filed out. They grumbled as they walked towards the evacuation point, protesting that they didn’t want to leave and that they could fight, even though they were too young.  
  
One student, a third year or younger by the squeaky voice, proclaimed that Voldemort should be scared of him, because he had been to a meeting of Dumbledore’s Army. Others piped up, agreeing, and the complaining started all over again as they marched after the other Houses that had already left.  
  
Rose shook her head at their foolishness. She wasn’t old enough to stay either—a few months shy of seventeen—but she wouldn’t have stayed even if she could. She was the only person her father had left, and she couldn’t bear the thought of him alone in their flat. It wouldn’t be fair to leave him deprived of his entire family because of a war he couldn’t understand.  
  
She took one last look around before going down the steps, and her gaze fell on a group of women talking to Professor McGonagall. One figure in particular stood out to Rose, recognizable by her stance and the messy fall of curls visible under her hat.  
  
The woman turned, as if she could feel Rose looking at her, and their eyes met, green staring into blue. Septima Vector nodded at her, a silent goodbye, and Rose felt her eyes burn with the effort of holding back tears.   
  
In that instant, she realized that she cared far more for Septima than she had ever been able to admit to herself.  
  
Suddenly, she wanted to stay and fight, but she couldn’t. Her feet kept moving, carrying her away, and a tear trickled down her cheek as she left the Great Hall.   
  


*                     *                      *

  
  
_January 3rd, 1998_  
  
Rose glanced around the office, looking at the bulging bookshelves, the glass-top desk, the fireplace, the door that presumably led to private rooms—at anywhere but the woman sitting next to her.   
  
She had met with Professor Vector before, of course, but that had been in a brightly lit office with her homework lying between them like a barrier.   
  
In the light of the single, flickering candle, she noticed things she never had before.  
  
The office they were hiding in was stuffy, having been closed during the holiday—Professor Sinistra wasn’t due back until the next morning—and both she and Professor Vector had taken off their cloaks and outer robes.   
  
The first few buttons of Professor Vector’s shirt were undone. Rose could just make out the ridge of her collarbone, and the glint of candlelight off a silver chain sitting at the base of her throat.   
  
“Thanks,” Rose said, breaking the silence in an attempt to make her eyes behave. “It was really nice of you to save me from Professor Carrow. I didn’t think she’d be on the prowl tonight.” But even the mention of the stocky, toad-like witch didn’t help.   
  
“I am sure she missed hexing students over the holiday,” Professor Vector said dryly, shaking her head in disapproval. The movement sent her hair sweeping over her shoulders; usually the auburn curls were pulled back in a sleek chignon. Rose had never seen her hair down before, but she liked it better this way.  
  
So far Rose had been lucky enough to escape the notice of the Carrow siblings as well as their fondness for cruel punishments. The Astronomy Tower was one of their favorite hunting grounds, as students often used it as a make-out hideaway.   
  
But that wasn’t why she had been staring at the stars tonight.   
  
After her heartbreaking trip home for the break, she couldn’t stand being around others. Unable to take the commotion of the Hufflepuff common room, she had wandered up to the Astronomy Tower in search of solitude and the stars. The tower was a favorite hangout of hers, and she knew the spots to avoid if she didn’t want to be interrupted by giggling couples.  
  
The stars, and the myths behind them, reminded her of—no, she wasn’t going to think about that now.  
  
“I—I wasn’t up here to meet someone,” she said, blushing at the thought. She didn’t want Professor Vector to think she had rescued her from a justified punishment.   
  
Rose suddenly felt pressure on her knee. Looking down, she found Professor Vector’s hand resting there, fingers trembling slightly.   
  
“I know,” the other woman said, gently squeezing her knee. “Don’t be nervous, Miss Zeller. I often come up here at night—after curfew, that is—for alone time. One loner can always recognize another, my dear.” She didn’t pull her hand back but kept it on Rose’s knee, thumb rubbing comforting circles. Her fingers weren’t shaking anymore.   
  
Flashing a timid smile, Rose saw a warmth in Professor Vector’s eyes that hadn’t been there before, and a shiver went through her body.   
  


*                     *                      *

  
  
After that, Rose sought out reasons to spend time with Professor Vector.   
  
She had always had crushes on female professors as well the girls on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, and she had even fancied Fleur Delacour during the Triwizard Tournament.   
  
But this was different.   
  
At first, she tried to chalk it up to the stress of life at Hogwarts under the Carrows and Snape—their rule turned the school into a virtual prison, and Rose had more reason than most to be terrified. She knew about the resistance Neville Longbottom was leading, and his attempts to get students to fight back, but she didn’t dare join.  
  
The Death Eaters didn’t have any qualms about killing a pure-blood witch who was too outspoken about blood equality, so Rose was sure they wouldn’t pause at finishing off a half-blood who forgot her place.  
  
Spending time with Professor Vector, who became Septima somewhere in the endless line of visits, helped her forget what was going on.   
  
Before, Septima had always been unapproachable and aloof, but the little touches of humanity that Rose had noticed while they were hiding—the unbuttoned shirt, the undone hair—changed how she saw her. And now, it was as if she couldn’t stop seeing her.   
  
Working on her homework in Septima’s office gave her plenty of opportunities to memorize every little detail about the other woman. Everything from the way her eyes changed shades of green depending on the latest news of the war to the way she nibbled absently on her quill—like a Muggle professor would bite a pen—before spitting out the feathers with a look of disgust. After seeing that happen a few times, Rose gave Septima a ballpoint. She had always preferred pens to quills herself, despite the looks purebloods shot her when she used one in class.   
  
Soon, going over homework turned into having tea and talking together, and Rose looked forward to those times more than anything else. She struggled a bit at first, as she had always been shy, but she eventually got over her nerves. Only with Septima, however; with everyone else, even members of her own house, she stumbled over her words and turned red at the slightest misstep.   
  
The routine never changed—talk and tea—and Rose took solace in that. When the stress was too much, she would drop by Septima’s office for relaxing conversation. As the year went on, the Carrows got worse and worse, often stopping by classes to ridicule and threaten both students and teachers, and Rose’s admiration for Septima only grew when the Arithmancy professor kept her cool during each encounter. She made it a habit to visit after any appearance by the Carrows, wanting to soak up Septima’s courage, if such a thing was possible.   
  
They made a game of trying to make each other laugh, and Rose loved when she won, because then Septima’s smile reached her eyes. But Septima was usually the victorious one, as she had far more ammunition than Rose from her years of teaching at Hogwarts. Rose didn’t mind, though, because she liked Septima’s “I won” smirk just as much as her smile.   
  
Septima surely noticed her increased interest, but she didn’t say anything. Neither did Rose. They never came anywhere near breaking the professional lines that bound them both, even if Rose’s mind did harbor a fantasy or two.  
  
At night, in the privacy of her bed, with the yellow velvet drapes spelled shut, she couldn’t help but imagine what Septima’s fingers—fingers that wound so gracefully around the handle of a teacup—would feel like touching her. Or what Septima’s lips—lips that were often wrapped around the pen Rose had given her—would feel like against hers.   
  
Her hormones apparently didn’t care that there was a war going on.  
  


*                     *                      *

  
  
_January 1st, 2003_  
  
Rose was in the same spot she had been on that fateful night, when Septima had rescued her from the clutches of Alecto Carrow. Back then, she had been sitting on the edge of the observation balcony, legs dangling, eyes staring at the night sky, picking out various star formations.   
  
Now, five years later, she had returned to Hogwarts, after a stint with the Holyhead Harpies. A knee injury had ended her Quidditch career, but she could still fly, and Hogwarts had been in need of a flying instructor after Madam Hooch’s retirement.  
  
She was doing the same now, mentally naming her favorite constellations, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Twisting to look, she saw Septima standing behind her, and Rose nodded hello.  
  
Septima sat down beside Rose, taking her heels off before letting her legs hang over the edge.   
  
“You’ve been staring at me again, Rose.”   
  
“Yeah, I have.” Rose made no attempt to deny Septima’s statement—it was the truth.   
  
Part of why she had come back to Hogwarts was to see if she still felt the same without the stresses of war affecting her emotions. Her first day back had shown that her feelings hadn’t changed—her eyes instinctively sought out Septima at breakfast. While she tried not to stare, watching as Septima drank tea and nibbled on fruit, she quickly lost the battle. Septima’s lips were just as tempting as Rose had remembered, and once again she had wondered what they would feel like against hers.   
  
They sat in silence for a while, Rose’s left foot occasionally bumping against Septima’s right foot, as they both gazed at the starry sky.   
  
Septima spoke first. “Is … is that my bookmark?” Her tone sounded unsure, the first time Rose could remember hearing uncertainty in her voice.   
  
Looking down at the bracelet she was spinning around her wrist, Rose nodded. “It is,” she added in case Septima hadn’t seen her nod in the darkness. “It was in one of the texts I borrowed.” After the battle, the school had sent her things home. The green ribbon had been in a book Septima had lent her to help her understand the Chaldean method of arithmancy.  
  
She had ended up wearing the ribbon as a bracelet when she didn’t return to Hogwarts for her seventh year, instead completing her education by correspondence. Her father needed her after losing his wife, so she had taken advantage of the option that the Hogwarts Board of Governors had offered for those whose schooling had been interrupted by the war.   
  
The emerald green color reminded her of Septima’s eyes when she truly smiled. Rose told herself for years she was being a romantic fool, but she had worn it all the same.  
  
The years away from Hogwarts had changed her somewhat—she wasn’t the same shy, scared girl she had been then. As one of the starting Beaters during the year the Harpies won the British League Cup, Rose’s nerves had fully disappeared at last. A deluge of press conferences, appearances on Quidditch shows on the Wizarding Wireless Network, and interviews for the  _Daily Prophet_  had cured her, because it was either get over her anxiety or go crazy.   
  
The risqué calendar she and her teammates had done for Quality Quidditch Supplies had also helped. She had plenty of adoring fans after her spread for June, in which she “wore” just her long hair and her broom.   
  
But even with all of that, Rose still had to summon her courage for what she wanted to do next. Her heart beat nervously, its pounding surely visible through the thin fabric of her t-shirt. She glanced at Septima, who even in the dim light looked calm, her expression thoughtful.   
  
Firmly reminding herself that she wasn’t the shy girl staring carefully at her professor over the rim of her tea cup, Rose took a deep breath, then said, “I’ve been dreaming of this for a long time.”   
  
She kissed Septima tentatively, waiting for a reaction—would she be pushed away or welcomed?  
  
When Septima kissed her back soundly, Rose’s heart fluttered like the Golden Snitch she had accidentally hit once.   
  


*                     *                      *

  
  
Later, when Rose woke up, she wasn’t sure what time it was, or even whose bed they were in. Those were trivial things—the woman beside her was not.  
  
She idly traced a pattern of marks her nails had left on Septima’s back. If she squinted enough, the crescent-shaped indents reminded her of a constellation, but which one, she wasn’t sure. Her mind was still asleep and foggy with pleasure.  
  
The light touches woke Septima, and she turned to face Rose, green eyes dark and hooded. She smirked, that satisfied smile that had always made Rose shudder, and even now the pleased expression sent a heated shiver down Rose’s spine.  
  
“I want you again,” Rose said, voice raspy. Kicking the sheets back, she rolled on top of Septima, their breasts and hips touching. Rose’s earlier nerves were gone, eradicated by the first moan she had coaxed from Septima’s kiss swollen lips.  
  
Septima’s hand twined in her hair, pulling Rose’s head down to hers. Their mouths clashed together, more passionately than before, and she felt, rather than saw, Septima’s nod. It was her turn to smirk as she slithered down the other woman’s body, and she did, flashing a smug, knowing grin up before she lowered her mouth to Septima’s wet center.  
  
Rose didn’t know what tomorrow—awkwardness, regret, a possible future—would bring, and she didn’t care. All that mattered to her was right now. If the war had taught her one thing, it was to enjoy what she could when she could.

**Author's Note:**

> My version of Rose Zeller is older than the canon mention, to make her of legal age. 
> 
> This fic was originally written in June 2011.
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://galacticcoyote.tumblr.com/)


End file.
